This was always something Surit was afraid of when he boarded a new ship. This time he’d been sickeningly right about it. In the sudden susurrus of murmurs, Commander Vinys paused, expressionless.

More officers indicated they had questions with chimes from their wristbands. Surit’s hands clenched so hard that his knuckles stood proud against the stretched skin. If the commander wasn’t going to squash this, Surit would have to find something to say himself. He felt sick as he raised his head.

“Excuse me,” Tennal drawled from behind him, just before Surit could ask for permission to speak. His voice was pitched to cut effortlessly through the muttering. “Who is Marit Yeni?”

The entire room stopped whispering to turn and stare at him.

There wasn’t a single person in the military who didn’t know who Marit Yeni was. She was infamous: the only architect to join the reader rebellion. Children in tiny villages used her name in playground games. It was almost inconceivable that Tennal, the legislator’s nephew, wouldn’t be familiar with the history.

Tennal looked around, meeting people’s eyes with an air of genuine confusion. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

Surit wondered wildly if Tennal was somehow using reader powers to draw everyone’s attention to himself. He had never seen someone hijack a room so completely.

“Enough,” Commander Vinys said impatiently. “Personnel matters are not up for discussion in this briefing.”

Surit’s mouth snapped shut. If the commander had really wanted to stifle the topic, he should have said that thirty seconds ago.

That was it for mentions of Marit, at least. The commander wrapped up the meeting by running through assignments; Surit mechanically noted his new command: Retrieval Unit Two-Eight-Seven. His nerves were jangling so much that he had to force himself to remember his part in the syncing act. He didn’t have to look around for Tennal, though; Tennal glued himself to Surit’s elbow the moment the meeting finished.

As they turned to leave, Tennal murmured, “So when were you planning to tell me your mother was a celebrity?”

Surit had been expecting the accusation, though not the edge of prurient curiosity in Tennal’s voice. “Celebrity isn’t the word,” he said. Infamous was more like it. “Tennal, do you really not—didn’t you learn about her in school?”

“Boarding school was a busy time for me,” Tennal said. “I had my hands full committing mind crimes against my classmates.”

“There was a civil war!” Surit said, his ferocious whisper a bit louder than it should have been.

Tennal checked that the dispersing officers were out of earshot. “Oh, for Lights’ sake, of course I know who she is,” he said. “Don’t ask me to take a test on her—I meant it about boarding school—but you wouldn’t have liked any of my other ideas for a distraction.”